Silentium
by The Moonlight's Marionette
Summary: The war filled with tragedies is finally over. And while the survivors try to regain hope,sometimes there is none. No rope to cling to in desparation,no straw to clutch at. Nothing. It is then, that the darkness descends and shrouds everything in silence.


He sits, unmoving, in the old but comfortable chair, precisely placed in front of the dirty, cracked windows to allow him a view of the outside. Right now, the window is thrown open to allow the sea breezes to circulate inside.

Remus closes his eyes and lets the wind tousle his hair and caress is face. Despite the coolness of the summer day, his skin feels unnaturally warm. He breathes in the salt air and catches a whiff of something else.

Vanilla maybe?

He opens his eyes.

The wind has picked up because the shutters are banging. But he can't hear the loud angry noises they make as the wind assaults them. He cannot hear its howl as it whistles through the old boards. Nor can he hear the waves crashing against the cliff just beyond his front door.

Nothing.

What his blurry vision does allow, is for him to take in the sight of the colorful, neatly arranged and well-taken-care-of flowers growing a few feet away from the cottage. The product of hard work and what he thought at first, to be an unnecessary gesture. He had turned out to be wrong though, because the sight of them now is comforting.

He would no doubt have to thank her, when she arrives- like he knows she will even though he remembers telling her not to. There seems to be no reasoning with her. Once stubborn always stubborn he concludes with a small, wry smile.

His eye lids flutter when he stifles a yawn with the back of his hand. _Am I…tired?_ He has only just awoken from sleep not even a full hour prior, yet his body feels so drained.

He stares at nothing in particular and ponders. He would have liked to at least read something but he doesn't feel up to it. A light touch flits across his shoulder. He looks around to see Hermione standing above him, greeting him with a warm smile. He smiles back, grateful for the familiar company.

Her mouth moves but no words come out.

Her brows knit in confusion and she shakes him slightly. He watches her mouth and the movement it makes. How her lips form a pout and then come together.

She is saying his name.

The look on her face changes slowly, comprehension dawning on her like a dark cloud. He watches her eyebrows rise into her hair and her mouth hangs open.

He tries to determine the level that his voice will be heard before it leaves his throat. Consciously, he assumes it is a whisper but there is no way to be sure.

He lowers his gaze. "It's…gone completely, Hermione. I can't…"

Her fingers tighten and press into his shoulder making him look at her again. Her brown eyes are glistening; she is on the verge of tears. She hangs her head and gives him one last squeeze before holding her head up high. He watches as she swallows and sweeps her hair back, trying her best to show him a brave face.

She moves to an antique cabinet to the right of the small dining table, and returns with a few rolls of parchment, two quills, and ink.

Remus has been learning to read lips in preparation but he didn't particularly have a knack for it, so they had discontinued. Hermione could even admit to herself, that deep inside, she thought she could have found the cure before it could get this far.

Remus leans forward and takes a quill from her. She drags another chair and pulls a table between them to press on. She holds the quill tightly in her hand and hovers over the parchment, thinking of something to write. What could she write?

She breathes and the quill moves along.

_Remus, I'm sorry._ It's all she manages and she gently pushes it toward him.

He looks at the words and he can almost feel his lips twitch upwards. She is so generous, so kind, so caring_. It's all right Hermione, it's not your fault._

It's what he always says but it's not accompanied by his usual smile. It's almost painful watching her try to keep herself together. Keep herself composed for his sake because she believes that if she shatters- she being his only means of support- then he will shatter too.

_When?_

_As soon as I woke up this morning. I found it strange, that there were no birds. At first I_ _thought I was dreaming_…

He pauses and takes a deep breath. Hermione sits across from him, completely motionless.

_I tried to get out of bed and into the chair and I accidentally knocked down the vase of flowers you put there yesterday. When I didn't hear it crash…I knew._

He quietly watches her face as she reads, her lips trembling with each line. He doesn't feel sad though, nor remorseful.

Is it strange? That he should feel nothing at a time like this? That he can watch this young woman across from him, collapse under the weight that he alone bears, and not feel a single thing?

He knows that they cannot change it. It is something that was coming for a long time. Maybe that is why he is so numb. It isn't sudden. It was years in the making.

She looks at him with her big, brown eyes filled with sadness and this time, he manages a smile. _She looks so sad, why does she stay?_ He reaches forward to pull the parchment back. Her words are slanted, messy, and almost illegible.

_What will we do?_

What could they do?

The wind rushes through the grass outside, making it ripple like the water of the ocean.

_Well, I guess we'll just have to work double time on finding that cure.  
_  
A laugh mixed with a sob escapes her and she clutches her mouth before the terrible cries can escape and the tears flow freely.


End file.
